


Patched Up

by gildedfrost



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Big Bang Challenge, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Secret Identity, Trans Gavin Reed, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-08
Updated: 2019-10-08
Packaged: 2020-11-27 08:36:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20945447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gildedfrost/pseuds/gildedfrost
Summary: Connor intervened. Gavin didn’t die. Then he passed out, and Connor couldn’t just call an ambulance and leave him without supervision, so he led the man, stumbling and not fully conscious, back to the address listed on his file while trying to keep himself from bleeding out.Now there’s a police officer who knows his face and what he is.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Convin Big Bang! 
> 
> Check out the [fantastic art on tumblr by NHMoonshadow](https://sharysisnhmoonshadow.tumblr.com/post/188204454108/)!
> 
> Beta read by [itz_mckennaj](https://archiveofourown.org/users/itz_mckennaj)

Gavin sets his glass down on the counter, only a drop of amber liquid left clinging to the bottom of it. His fingers feel sticky, skin tacky against the glass. “Another,” he croaks. He lost track of how many drinks he’s had an hour or two ago, but the bartender whisks away his glass and grants him a new one, so he hasn’t been cut off just yet.

He tips the glass her way in thanks--perhaps a little stronger than he intends by the way the drink sloshes, almost spilling--and tips it back, downing half in one go before settling back down in his seat to watch the game.

At this point the sport is unrecognizable. He never has been one for sports, anyway. Especially now, when everything’s moving fast enough to blur and give him a headache and he has to take another sip to keep his head from spinning and bring himself back to the present.

He tries to recall the case he worked today, but the details slip from his mind. Flickers of images flash through his mind--a child, blood, a metal implement--before fading into the haze of the bar, the low light and warmth inviting him to stay in the timeless room, surrounded by dark wood and the murmur of voices.

The glass is empty when it meets his lips.

He sets it down--at least, that’s the intent, but it makes a _clunk _as it falls a few more inches than anticipated--and stands, wobbling on his feet as he makes his way through the bar towards the bathroom. Syrupy, dried liquids on the floor stick to his shoes, a rather uncomfortable feeling that fades in and out of his consciousness, returning in force once he’s making his way back out of the bathroom, the silence and the judgmental mirror both doing their best to drag his mood down.

He’s not sure if he’s headed for the bar or the exit when he bumps into another of the bar’s patrons. He pushes them aside, muttering something along the lines of “Fuck off,” and then his world tilts.

Belatedly, he realizes there’s a hand gripping at his collar, the stranger sneering down at his face. Rage flashes hot in his chest, a red flush crawling along his neck. “You wanna fight, asshole?” Gavin barks, nose to nose with the creep before him. His hands ball into fists, knuckles white. “You think you can take me?”

“Watch where you’re going,” the other man says sternly, letting go and shoving him aside with a glare. “And learn to hold your fucking liquor.”

The man departs, two friends in tow, and Gavin storms after them into the cool evening air, the last of winter’s chill almost refreshing after the stuffiness of the bar. It doesn’t unfog his mind so much as it makes his head hurt and he knows the feeling is going to get worse like any headache where he’s drunk or dehydrated. It keeps his mood sour and his thoughts simple and straightforward. He continues forward a few quick paces, grabbing the man’s jacket at the shoulder and spinning him around.

His fist meets the man’s face with a satisfying _crack. _He reels back, hand over his nose, and Gavin grins.

“Don’t get in my way again, you dirty prick.”

Gavin stands there, smug and ready to leave the man like that, but someone grabs him by the shoulder and drags him back to the alley beside the bar, shoving him against the wall and punching him in the gut.

The air leaves his lungs. “That the best you got?” Gavin asks, the words coming out with a wheeze. The pain fades as quickly as it came, drowned out by adrenaline.

That earns him a slap to the face, loud in the quiet of the night and stinging sharp a few seconds later. The world spins, lighting up in colors and static, but his vision settles soon enough for him to see the third man draw a knife. A voice in the back of his mind says he might be in a little over his head.

He knees the one who slapped him, earning a grunt and a loosened grip, and he winds up for a punch. He misses and stumbles, but stands upright quickly and takes a couple steps backwards as he sees the one with a knife advancing on him. Bricks dig into his shoulders through his shirt as his back meets the wall.

He swallows and readies his fists.

The next few minutes pass in a blur. Punches, slaps, kicks--it’s rough and his face throbs, but soon Gavin’s got two of them reeling (the first man included, once he’d joined the fray) and a third yelling in his face. He’s exhausted, but can hardly feel any pain at all from his bruises.

He grins tiredly at the man yelling at him, unable to make out the words clearly and not caring enough to focus on them. “You done yet?” he slurs, taking a step forward--and stumbling.

He tumbles to the ground, an old shard of glass digging into his palm. A groan escapes him. He’s barely able to shuffle into a sitting position, back against the wall, and looks up to see one of them readying to knock him out.

It’ll be fine. He’s had a concussion before.

He closes his eyes and hears the crack.

Followed by a grunt, an _oof,_ and a “What the fuck?”

Gavin blinks his eyes open, numbly surprised that his face remains intact. The scene before him moves quickly. There’s a fourth person in the fray now--fifth person, Gavin amends, if he counts himself--and one of his opponents is already down, holding a hand to his own face with eyes closed. The other two are facing off against the newcomer, who’s doing a decent job of avoiding and meeting their punches and getting in a few of his own.

He takes a few hits--at least, Gavin thinks he does, but it’s hard to tell at this angle--without pause. Another man gets pushed back and it starts to look like the newcomer’s got a leg up.

Until he gets stabbed with the knife.

“No!” Gavin shouts, struggling to get to his feet.

The new guy stumbles only a moment, then snaps his fist into the knifeman’s face, knocking him out.

The dust begins to settle. The air hangs awkwardly between them all, the two conscious men of the trio wobbling to their feet and trying to get their knife-wielding buddy away from the newcomer. They cast him wary glances, but the fight is over.

He turns toward Gavin.

He’s wearing a leather jacket. Black with silver zippers for too many pockets. Calling it leather might be too generous; even half-conscious he can tell it’s one of those cheap things that probably won’t last any more than a few years. The boots are similar: Brown faux leather. They’re worn out. Mud stains them and the hem of his jeans.

It takes a conscious effort to bring his attention back up from the ground to the stranger’s face. The man is staring at him, inspecting him, and he feels a twinge of self-consciousness. Here he is, face bloodied and bruised, and this man’s looking at him with a perfect face, barely a hair out of place. Whatever product he’s using, it’s working.

Gavin chuckles, a low, raspy sound that makes his lungs hurt. It dies when his eyes settle on the man’s center.

The stab wound.

His pale dress shirt is wet, dark blood staining it what would no doubt be a deep crimson in better lighting but only looks black in this alley.

“You need an ambulance,” Gavin says. “You’re gonna die. You gotta call an ambulance.”

“I’ll be fine,” the man assures him, “but you need medical assistance.” He glances over his shoulder, watching the others depart with their friend in tow.

He laughs. “I’m not the one who got fucking stabbed.”

The man touches Gavin’s left arm, and Gavin turns his head to look.

There’s a gash along the back of his arm, blood still oozing from the wound. His hand and arm are covered in blood, and he can tell just by looking that it’s already some hideous mix of tacky and wet. Most of it is probably his own.

His mouth goes dry. “Oh, shit.”

“That sounds about right.” He pulls a phone out from one of the pockets in his jacket, but Gavin grabs his hand.

“Don’t,” he says, grimacing. He has just enough sense left to know he doesn’t need this on his record. He picked a fight in public while intoxicated, with plenty of witnesses to boot. Besides, it didn’t hit a vein or anything, and the lightheadedness he feels has to be from the alcohol.

The stranger raises an eyebrow. “You need proper treatment to prevent infection and scarring and ensure a quick and healthy recovery.”

He can’t exactly argue that point. It _is _a rather big gash. More importantly, this guy just took a knife for him. “Fine. Call an ambulance. You need it, too.”

“I’ll be gone by the time it arrives.”

“Christ. You’re worse than me.” Gavin slumps, head falling back against the bricks hard enough to make his headache worse. “Nah. Don’t. You might…” His eyelids are heavy and his vision flickers again. “You need…”

The world goes black.

* * *

When he wakes, everything is in pain.

“Oh, fuck,” he groans, tilting forward. He’s sitting, but if he’s sitting on the ground, why does it feel like he’s falling?

Steady hands catch him before he can fall, pushing him backwards until he’s sitting back on his couch, its soft cushions pillowing his head. “Steady, Gavin,” says a voice he doesn’t know. “Stay where you are, okay? You’re going to be alright.”

Gavin cracks open his eyes.

The stranger is looking at him with a concerned expression. His jacket is off and his sleeves are rolled up, blood on his hands. There’s a first aid kit and a towel on the coffee table in front of the couch, and…

He blinks at their surroundings, double and triple checking the details as the stranger then moves out of his sight.

They’re at his house.

“Okay,” he mumbles. His head feels like it’s filled with rocks. He scratches an itch on his left arm and immediately lets out a pained moan, snatching back his hand and looking down.

His arm is still bleeding. It throbs with pain, and now his mind is able to identify where and what that pain is instead of simply existing within a bubble of nameless pain. No, it’s his arm, where he got stabbed for… Why was he stabbed?

The man returns with a cloth and two bowls of water, setting the bowls on the table. “This will hurt,” he warns, and Gavin’s thought processes halt before he can completely piece together what’s going to happen because his mind stutters when he sees the tear in the man’s light purple shirt.

The blood is blue.

“No,” he says. It doesn’t make sense, but this is what’s in front of him, and he’s pretty sure he’s not hallucinating. “You… You’re an android.”

He dips a cloth in the bowl of soapy water. “Hold still.”

It hurts. The touch stings and the soap burns, but Gavin grits his teeth, determined not to make a sound. The man’s--android’s--touch is mindful but not gentle. Efficient but not rough.

He surrenders his mind to the pain, staring at the ceiling as his wound is cleaned. His thoughts are achingly blank. He counts from one to ten under his breath, then again; then counts from one to twenty in every language he knows numbers in, reaching _khamsa _before he realizes his arm is dry.

The android has a needle in his hand and thread in the other, and that makes Gavin’s stomach lurch. “Oh, fuck no.”

The android looks at him with sympathy. At least, it looks like sympathy, but he knows it’s only an imitation. “I don’t need to,” he says, “but it would save you a trip to the hospital tomorrow, where another android would do the exact same thing. You need stitches, Gavin.”

“Why do you fucking care? What are you, some sort of nanny bot?”

“Only as much as you are a punching bag.” He takes Gavin’s arm, settling it on the arm of the couch. “May I?”

Gavin takes a long look at him. It’s very odd, seeing an android without an LED and with such an intense expression.

In the end, he shrugs, looking back up at the ceiling. “Go for it.”

* * *

Connor didn’t expect to find himself watching over a belligerent human tonight.

He didn’t even intend to get involved in the fight, but the chances that the one with the knife--Michael Robertson, 29, one previous conviction of assault and battery--was going to attack again were too high. Gavin’s chance of survival if that happened were minuscule.

Connor intervened. Gavin didn’t die. Then he passed out, and Connor couldn’t just call an ambulance and leave him without supervision, so he led the man, stumbling and not fully conscious, back to the address listed on his file while trying to keep himself from bleeding out.

Now there’s a police officer who knows his face and what he is.

He put the man to bed hours ago, remaining alert for any sounds that may indicate a change in his condition, but thankfully he’s been resting peacefully despite the pain. He didn’t give him painkillers due to his inebriated state, but Connor’s already checked the cabinets and found that there will be enough for when he wakes.

The tear in his chassis gives him continuous errors and a sensation he has learned to identify as pain, but thankfully he was telling the truth when he said he’d be fine; nothing major was damaged and he was able to shut off the flow of thirium to the minor vein that was nicked. His gait will be awkward until he’s able to meet with a mechanic, but the wound is more superficial than it would be for a human. His shirt is now draped across the back of a chair to let the thirium evaporate, leaving him with only his jacket, zipped up halfway to hide his injury in case any visitors should stop by.

At five in the morning, the living room is quiet save for the occasional passing of a car and Gavin shifting in his sleep. Connor sits on the couch and fidgets with his coin, pinging brightly in the silence, little else to do this early in the morning.

It shouldn’t be difficult to see a trusted mechanic around eight in the morning. It’s easy to slip in his diode and step into a place he doesn’t pass by in his daily life, requesting repairs and paying by cash. Secondhand android vendors don’t investigate much, and a few of them have seen him enough times that he doesn’t raise suspicion.

So far, nobody knows his secret. Nobody except this detective whom he expects never to meet again.

“You’re still here?”

Connor immediately checks his recent data: 05:17:32 AM. Background sound input for the past 322 seconds. No records of pain or sudden changes in Gavin’s heart rate or breathing.

It sours his mood that he failed to notice Gavin wake.

He turns to face the human, who looks absolutely exhausted, purple and red blooming on his face. “If I let you refuse the care of health professionals, the least I’m going to do is make sure you make it through the night.”

“If you let me…” Gavin snorts. He shuffles into the kitchen, going straight for the painkillers and grimacing as he passes the blue-stained shirt. “So whose bot are you? You’ve gotta be jailbroken or something, right?”

“Something like that.” A scan reveals no significant change in Gavin’s arm, but he can’t check for infection from this range. It might be too soon to tell. “I acted of my own volition.”

He swallows the pills dry. “Androids don’t just fuck people up like that.”

There’s no use arguing with him. Tired and evidently stubborn, trying to convince him of his personhood would be futile. But Connor is also both of those things and he’s got no point lying, either. “I assign myself objectives without human oversight. You could think of me as a rogue, jailbroken android. You wouldn’t be wrong.”

“Sounds like I ought to call CyberLife.”

Connor tilts his head. “To what end? You want a pat on the back? Maybe some threats or hush money to make sure you don’t publicize my apparent malfunction?”

Gavin saunters over, leaning on the back of the sofa and meeting his gaze. “To keep a broken bot from hurting any other humans. I don’t know who your owner is, but they’re causing some dangerous shit if you’re running around.”

“On paper, I think that would fall on CyberLife themselves,” Connor says. “As it is, you’re the one out picking fights. I wouldn’t have had to get involved if you could handle yourself better. Maybe you should lay off the liquor.”

“Ha. Funny.” He jerks his head towards the hall. “Get out.”

Connor stands slowly, smoothing out his jacket. “I know you’re upset, but are you sure you won’t need any help in the morning?”

“Fucking positive.” He gestures again. “Out, or I’ll make sure you get scrapped myself.”

“Oh, no. I’m absolutely terrified,” Connor says, voice flat. He doesn’t believe Gavin will follow through with that threat, but even if he did he’d have ways to lay low. “As you wish. I’ll leave your apartment, shirtless, at five thirty in the morning.”

“Whoever programmed your personality was a total dick.”

“It’s better than yours.” Connor grabs his shirt, bundling it up and tucking it inside his jacket. “I hope your morning improves, Gavin. I already left a message with Captain Fowler letting him know you won’t be in today.”

“Whatever.”

Connor’s hand is on the doorknob when Gavin takes a few steps into the hall after him.

“Hey!”

He pauses, glancing backwards.

“What’s your name?”

“Connor,” he says. Whatever reason Gavin’s asking, it doesn’t matter; his appearance is enough to identify him by. “Connor Clark.”

He exits into the dawn.

* * *

“Holy shit, Gav,” Tina says, looking over his arm. “What the hell happened?”

He rolls his eyes. “I already told you, I picked a fight at a bar. It’s no big deal.”

“You didn’t call me from the hospital. Did you stitch this up yourself?”

The two of them are sitting on his sofa, reruns playing quietly on the TV while they eat Thai takeout. It’s been a couple of days since the incident and Tina apparently was worried enough to come over with dinner on a Sunday evening when his texts weren’t cheery enough. Which is bullshit, honestly, because he’s never cheerful, but he didn’t voice that because even he knows it would sound kind of sad.

“Nah. Some bot decided to play nurse.” He leans forward to set down his bowl and grab a can of beer off the coffee table, cracking it open. “How’s work been? Everyone getting on without me?”

“Everyone’s fine. The Jones case got cleaned up yesterday and nobody missed your sorry ass until I heard you got stabbed.” She pokes at his arm and he pulls back with a wince. “You could’ve had the guy brought in for assault on an officer, make sure he learns not to do it again.”

“Give it a break, Tina. They took enough punches to think twice about escalating shit like that. Besides, I’ll be fine. I’m itching to get on my feet again.”

She gives him a look and he holds back a groan. It wouldn’t take a genius to know he went and got drunk after that case and she’s good at reading him like an open book, but she doesn’t dredge it up. “Sure that’s not just an infection?”

“Scar tissue, maybe. I’ve kept it clean and the plastic’s stitches are holding well. It’s weird, though.” He chews his lip. “You ever heard of an autonomous android?”

Tina sets down her food and leans back, crossing her arms. “Aren’t they all? They’re programmed to be smart and take initiative when it’s required. I’d say that’s pretty autonomous.”

Gavin shakes his head. “Kind of, but more than that. Not just acting on orders, but… creating new tasks.” He taps his arm. “I don’t know whose droid it was. Probably some rich guy’s custom model. Whatever it was, it didn’t need to patch me up.”

It didn’t need to step in and punch those guys in the face, either, but that’s a struggle to wrap his head around. It’s something androids are specifically programmed not to do, as he has since verified online, and he doesn’t know the implications of what he witnessed. Even jailbroken androids can’t work past those failsafes. Either whoever hacked this one is a genius, or--as a strange, small corner of his mind whispers to him--it wasn’t coded with those restrictions in the first place.

It could be a spy. A bodyguard. Maybe some sort of military prototype. Whatever the case, he’s never seen one before.

“If it’s programmed with medical skills, maybe it thought it needed to,” Tina points out. “If it’s a custom or high-end model, it might be looking after some rich kids or an old guy. It doesn’t sounds strange to me.”

“Maybe you’re right. Maybe I am overthinking it.” He rubs his temple. “Listen, do me a favor and don’t tell anyone about this, alright? Any of it. I’ll meet with Fowler first thing tomorrow so he knows how I’m doing.”

“That almost sounds professionally responsible of you.”

He bumps her shoulder with his. “Shut up, Tina.”


	2. Chapter 2

The following Saturday is a beautiful and sunny day, bringing with it enough warmth to fend off the lingering winter chill. It isn’t yet in the realm of warm for some people, but there are plenty of pedestrians out wearing short-sleeved shirts and shorts, enjoying the weather before the storms forecast for the coming week roll in.

Connor sticks to his usual: Jeans, boots, button-down shirt, and jacket, though he leaves the jacket unzipped today. He can’t help but feel giddy on days like this where humanity thrives around him, and the experience is improved by the amount of dogs also out for walks.

He confirms his next dog-walking appointment in two hours and pockets his phone, looking up in time to appear attentive while crossing the street. With his processing speed, multitasking is no issue--he can analyze his surroundings in under a second while also texting--but it makes the people around him more comfortable if he looks like he’s paying attention to where he’s going.

Fitting in is a necessity.

The path through the park is a familiar one. He’s walked it often since he first explored the city two years ago. He’s watched countless people walk down this same path and wear down the benches alongside it. Many people he recognizes, having either done an odd job for them or run into them enough times to have a few chats, and he would count some among his friends.

One person in particular has become a more common presence since first meeting him half a year ago.

The dog by the bench sees him first, a fluffy St. Bernard who thumps his tail on the ground and looks up at him with a whine. The human follows, setting his tablet down in his lap and grinning. “Well, look who decided to show up.”

Connor sits beside him on the bench, fussing over Sumo as he promptly stands and places his head in his lap, looking at him with wide eyes. “I did say I was busy last weekend and wouldn’t be passing through the park.”

“Shitty excuse.”

Connor smiles at him, scratching behind Sumo’s ears. “I’m here now. How’s your week been, Hank? Uneventful, I hope.”

“My coworker got stabbed, but he isn’t me and I don’t even like him. Other than that, everything’s been quiet.”

Connor winces. “Is he going to be okay?”

“Yeah, he’s fine, just more obnoxious than usual since he’s stuck at a desk all week. Knowing him, he probably started the fight.” Hank scratches Sumo’s head. “It’s alright. He’s got a friend looking out for him and I know she’d talk to me if something else was up.” He nudges Connor with his elbow. “How’s your week been? Any interviews yet?”

Connor stifles the urge to bite his lip. Anyone his apparent age should be out looking for a steady job, and sending out resumes is exactly what Hank thinks he’s doing. What Hank doesn’t know is that he can’t even afford an apartment, instead squatting in an unfinished office building an hour away and using his money for necessities like thirium and transportation. With a fake ID and no fingerprints--only a repeating texture that won’t hold up to close inspection--he doesn’t want to risk trying to get a formal job.

“No. There’s a lot of competition these days.”

Hank squeezes his shoulder. “Just keep holding out. Once you get that interview, I’m sure it’ll be smooth sailing from then on.”

“Hank…” Connor sighs. “Thank you. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine. But…”

“But what?”

He frowns, leaning forward with his arms crossed over his knees. “Can I ask your advice on something?”

He waves his hand forward. “Go right ahead.”

“There’s a lot of things stressing me out right now, Hank. Work is very low on that list; I’m getting by alright. But I keep finding myself frustrated, anxious, and scared for a number of specific reasons, and I’m not sure what to do about it. I don’t have a lot of friends, and…” His breath catches. “Of the people I know, I trust you the most. I don’t think you’ll judge me for feeling this way, nor will you betray my confidence. You’re honest, and I could use that.”

Hank nods his head slowly, considering. “Alright. Let’s, uh. Let’s see if we can figure something out for you. But be honest with me: Am I really the guy you trust the most? You don’t have anyone else your age to talk to? People you meet up with at the café, friends from back in college? Family?”

“You could say my worries have something to do with that.” Connor shrugs. “I’m slow to trust, but I have a good read on you by now. I really don’t have a lot of people I’m close with. It... could be part of my problem.”

“It’s concerning,” Hank admits, “but sometimes people are like that. It’s fine to be a loner, make your own path in life and everything, but are you isolating yourself?”

“Yes,” he replies without hesitation, watching Hank’s eyes widen at the honesty. “I interact with people a lot, but I don’t share personal information. I put up a metaphorical wall between myself and other people. Opening up isn’t something I feel comfortable or safe doing, but I think I need to start.” He speaks quickly, anxious to get the words out before he clams up.

“Huh.” He watches a bird hopping across the ground, searching the grass for crumbs. “So you’ve got general anxiety or something?”

“I don’t think I’ve ‘got’ anything.” Connor shakes his head. “Let’s take a specific example. I have some secrets that I can’t let anyone know. Let’s say someone figured out one of my secrets. The kind that could ruin my life if anyone found out. That stresses me out!” he says, emphasizing the last part with his hands. “I thought I was okay. I was managing. Now I’m left wondering a lot of things. Have I taken too many risks? Trusted too many people? Did I make a mistake in helping--”

His mouth clicks shut.

Even keeping his head down, a lot of people know his face either from the odd jobs he takes or the people he sees on a regular basis. He wouldn’t consider himself a social butterfly but he knows his fair share of people thanks to his refusal to hide away from the world. His life is as normal as he can get it without being too dangerous.

It looks like a nice day out. Every day this week has. Part of him thinks he can keep living like this, but when he runs the numbers--and he runs them too often--his chance of discovery is always increasing. It’s permanently risen since his encounter with the detective. Any of these days could be his last, caught by someone sent by CyberLife or the police and taken in for deactivation. That alone would be awful, but the possibility of being poked and prodded and tested on as they try to figure out what went wrong with him would be even worse of a nightmare.

He’s terrified.

Hank’s clever, but he can’t see the full force of fear in Connor’s mind. “Sounds like anxiety.” The words aren’t dismissive, and Connor thinks they’re not wrong, but it’s frustrating to talk about something while dancing around the exact topic. “Trust issues and paranoia. Who’s the last person you trusted with anything?”

“I…” He swallows. “Nobody.”

“Because you’re afraid it’s not safe?”

“I know it’s not safe,” he says sharply.

“Alright.” Hank’s eyebrows furrow with concern. “Look at it from another angle. What is the worst that could happen with someone knowing your secrets?”

“I could get killed. Hank, this isn’t something I’m going to elaborate on. I need you to believe that I’m not exaggerating, and I need to ask you to not press this topic.”

He takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “Okay,” he says. His body language indicates he doesn’t fully believe him. “I’m not gonna press, but I’ve got one question for you: Is this something the police can help you with?”

“No. Legally, there’s nothing they could do.”

“Is it something _I _could help you with? Keep you safe?”

A moment of hesitation. “Not legally.”

Hank takes a long look at him, then stands, Sumo perking up beside him. “If shit goes sideways, call me.”

“I can’t--”

“Connor. If it’s bad enough that you’re in danger of getting killed, you need to call me.” He starts walking down the path, Sumo trotting alongside him, and Connor follows a moment later. “We’re friends, right?”

“I believe we are, yes.”

“Great. Then I’m gonna be there for you. If not as a cop, then as a friend. If things are that bad, I won’t want to just stand by.” He glances sideways. “Can’t say I won’t ask for more details, though.”

“That’s fair.” An android passes them on the path, heading the opposite direction with a box of paint in his arms. “I want to say I feel reassured, but I don’t know how I feel.”

“That’s okay. As worried as you are, I get it. But, hey, back on topic, how comfortable are you opening up to people?”

“I’m not.” Connor frowns and reevaluates his words. “Could you elaborate?”

“Like, what level of personal things do you talk about with your friends? Your favorite TV show or games, your pets, who you’re dating or interested in… Those are normal things to trust people about. More personal things tend to be more private, but you should still have someone to talk to about them even if they’re uncomfortable. Sometimes especially because they’re uncomfortable. Things like mental health.”

“Oh.” Connor turns the words over in his mind. These things are normal to know about people, but the realization dawns on him that he’s never talked about anything important about his life. When anyone asks about himself, he turns the conversation back to them or focuses on his public life: Pet-sitting, dog-walking, and other chores he gets paid for. Often he’ll even avoid talking about places he visits even if they’re public.

If he trusts Hank, will it backfire?

If he doesn’t, will he continue to stifle himself?

“I have fish,” he says quietly a few minutes later when they reach the crosswalk, the path glowing a bright red. “I haven’t spoken to anyone about that. Is that silly?”

“You’re anxious about sharing anything about yourself. I get it. It’s not silly, but it might stress you out to hide everything about yourself. You got any pictures?”

He blinks. The crosswalk turns green and the three of them walk across. “No. I remember what they look like.”

“You seriously don’t have any photos of your pets?”

“I have a good memory.” But now that he thinks about it, he can’t share the images on his system with Hank. Nor can he now send them to his phone to show him, after saying he has no pictures. “But I can tell you about them. If you like fish, that is.”

“I don’t dislike them. Tell me about them.”

“I have a school of _Hyphessobrycon megalopterus_, one _Ancistrus cirrhosus_, one _Trichogaster lalius_, two _Nannostomus mortenthaleri_, and a miniature _Arapaima gigas._”

“I didn’t get anything out of that except catfish, smartass.”

“You recognized one of them.” Connor smiles as they continue on the path, walking past people on benches. “They’re all tropical freshwater fish. Eight tetras, one catfish, one dwarf gourami, two pencilfish, and a miniature arapaima.”

Hank clicks his tongue. “Didn’t know fish came in miniature. You sure that wasn’t just a sales ploy?”

His smile thins. “That one’s an android.”

“Huh. Didn’t even know CyberLife made robot fish. Is it as neat as the rest of them?”

“Yes. I like it.”

“That’s cool.” He doesn’t sound impressed, but there’s an effort to look interested. “What’s that one look like?”

He details its appearance, from the shape of its body to the feeding habits of the species, hoping that Hank develops some genuine interest in the fish. He wants to open up to Hank even if it’s terrifying, both for want of a friend and for his support. It’s selfish on all accounts, but if there’s anything he doesn’t want to--can’t--lose, it’s Hank’s friendship. It’s a safety net, both for his mind and his life. Doubly so now that Hank’s offered to help if things go south.

Four of the other fish are androids, too. Connor doesn’t tell him that. It might backfire on him, but he wants Hank to accept him and his pets at face value, android or otherwise.

It makes him feel normal.

* * *

Gavin feels like he’s being watched.

It starts at the precinct. Work resumes as usual when he returns Monday, albeit with the anticipated metaphorical chain to his desk. Thankfully, there’s still evidence to be reviewed from his last two cases, giving him a good excuse to stretch his legs and get out of the bullpen for a couple of hours, an excuse that he now desperately needs.

The androids along the wall stare straight forward, eyes never closing. They don’t need to keep them shut when not active, leaving them with an unnerving, endless stare. Despite the inactivity he still feels like they’re tracking him, seeing where he goes, waiting to catch him unawares.

Or maybe it’s not even that, he thinks, but that they know what he does every day because there’s always at least one or two there at any given time. Are any of them flawed? Would any of them take advantage of the precinct at a quiet hour? Would any of them be willing or able to knock out a human?

It’s creepy. Hank and Tina catch onto his anxiety--he can tell by the odd looks he gets when he glances too many times over his shoulder--but neither of them press for anything. Chris is too new to know him well enough. Ben willfully ignores personal drama in their department and Fowler doesn’t spare a second glance if it’s not that important. It’s for the better that this doesn’t come up, anyway.

At first, he doesn’t think he will dwell so much on this strange android that helped him, but he inevitably tries to identify him. He’s able to confirm his suspicions that this isn’t a standard android model when his appearance is missing from all available CyberLife catalogues (and those from other companies, for that matter), but can’t even figure out the model number from an extended search online or through DPD records, plugging in every detail he can recall. Not even the name brings up anything, although he can’t say “Connor Clark” is a particularly uncommon name.

Every time he encounters an android through the week, he looks at them closely, from the cashiers to the personal trainers to the domestic assistants. Their dialogue and expressions are as they always have been, but now that he’s looking at them--really looking, like he’s seeing them for the first time instead of looking past them--he doesn’t know what’s manufactured and what’s… what’s like Connor.

He doesn’t have a word for it. He knows Connor is different and he’s not so sure it’s just from unique coding. Even a custom model can’t just knock a guy out and perform unauthorized medical procedures on patients not under their care. (He looked that up; definitely not standard behavior for any android.)

In an effort to avoid creepy androids (which is to say all of them), he drives out on Saturday to one of the few cafés he knows of that bans androids, looking to get some reading done without that feeling of being watched. The quarterly edition of one of the journals he follows just released this morning, according to the email notification on his phone when he woke up, and he’s itching to read it. It’ll get his mind off of this android business and dust away what lingers of last week’s case.

Life has other plans.

He stands at the end of the counter to wait for his drink, pulling out his phone to access the journal when he hears a voice he thought he’d never hear again.

“Two medium lattes with coconut milk, please,” Connor says, the voice crystal clear and so familiar from just a few feet away.

“One with vanilla syrup.” That’s Hank’s voice. Gavin’s head turns so fast he can almost hear his neck crack.

Sure enough, it’s the two of them standing there at the counter ordering coffees together. Hank pays for the both of them and then they’re both right beside him. It doesn’t even look like Connor recognizes him, but Gavin’s willing to bet he’s got a good poker face. It’s definitely not another android with the same faceplate; the jacket is the exact same as the one he saw last week.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Hank says with a grin. He looks like he’s in good spirits, which is a good change from how grouchy he was yesterday at work, but the fact that he’s here with Connor is making Gavin’s head spin. “I’m surprised you didn’t pick up a shift today. Thought you’d be all over that.”

“I’m restless, not a workaholic,” Gavin says. It’s true, Fowler only had him on desk duty through Friday, but while he’s itching to get back out in the field that doesn’t mean he’s going to spend his weekend doing overtime. “I’d rather be at a gym than picking apart a crime scene. I’ll get back to it Monday.”

“Not picking fights at a bar?”

“Oh, fuck you.” He perks up as his name is called by a barista who looks less than impressed with his language and he happily picks up his mocha, taking a sip that almost scalds his tongue. “I got stabbed. Have some sympathy, man.”

“Is this that coworker you don’t like?” Connor asks, voice pleasant with a slight smirk on his face and Hank sputters. “He seems like an interesting guy.”

“Damn, Hank, what’ve you been saying about me? I don’t need Connor thinking I’m a dick, too.”

“I’m sure he can come to that conclusion on his own just from speaking with you, if he hasn’t already. Didn’t know you two were acquainted.”

“We met once.” Gavin shifts his weight, nerves still wearing on him but less than he would have anticipated. Sure, he didn’t expect to bump into Connor today, but his pretending at being human seems less creepy now than he’d been thinking. Still completely bizarre. “Earlier this month. We talked a bit, and, uh. Yeah. That’s about it.”

“You missed the part where I took you home from the bar,” Connor says, looking more confident than he did a minute ago and with a smugness in his eyes.

“Okay, Jesus,” Hank says, stepping forward and snapping up the two coffee cups now on the counter. He shoves one into Connor’s hands. “I do not have any interest in what the hell Gavin does in his spare time. Gavin, not a word.” He points at Gavin, silencing him just as he opens his mouth to retort, and then points at Connor, waving his finger back towards Gavin. “You know what we were just talking about? If you can tolerate him for more than five minutes, then, yeah.”

The two of them look at Hank, mouths half-open as they try to think of what to say.

Hank huffs and shakes his head. “Or not. Look, I gotta get going.” He points behind him with his thumb, where Sumo’s sitting patiently outside the store. “This guy needs a new brush and I’ve got groceries to get.”

“...Bye.” Connor gives a little wave as Hank leaves, watching as Sumo gets to his feet and trots away beside him. He turns his head to face Gavin, a curious look on his face.

Gavin heads for a seat near the window. Connor follows, sitting in the seat across from him.

“What?” Gavin asks, irritated. “Not even gonna give me some space?”

“I can leave if you prefer, but I get the impression that you don’t find my presence distasteful enough to decline further interaction. Unless now is a bad time to talk?”

Gavin sighs and shifts in his seat, suddenly uncomfortable with Connor’s sharp gaze boring into him. A whole week of worrying about androids watching him and now there’s one right in front of him, doing so openly. “Can you even taste that?” he asks, gesturing to the coffee.

He doesn’t miss the quick glance Connor gives to the left, into the establishment. So maybe he’s nervous, too. “In a way. Do you have enough taste buds left to taste your own coffee?”

“Look. Connor.” He leans forward. “I don’t know what the hell is wrong with you, but you’re weird. Fucked up. You might fool Hank, but I know better. I just haven’t figured out yet who put you up to this whole charade.”

Connor tilts his head, not looking threatened in the least. “You’re letting your personal biases and assumptions cloud your judgment. What do I look like, Gavin?”

He rolls his eyes. “You know what you look like to me.”

“Humor me. Given no context, what do I look like?”

“You _look _like a man.”

“Correct. I look like a person.” He leans forward. “There’s no need to overthink things. Sometimes, _c’est une pipe_. If you’re going to continue being pedantic and disrespectful, then I do not see any point in wasting my time or patience on you.”

“Why talk to me at all, then? You could’ve walked right out that door and never talked to me again. Hell, you could’ve not helped me in the first place. What’s your deal?”

“The same as anyone else’s deal. I care about cultivating interpersonal relationships, making sure the people around me are safe, and ensuring that my secrets don’t get out. I experience empathy. Might be hard to imagine for a man who’s not familiar with it.” His eyes meet Gavin’s. “You don’t seem concerned about talking, which is good for me. How’s your arm?”

“I just haven’t figured you out yet.” Gavin frowns. “Why’d Hank want you to talk to me?”

Connor smiles and sits back up straight, almost looking like he’s gritting his teeth. It’s unpleasant to see. “He’s encouraging me to make friends. Despite having met a lot of people, I’m not close to any of them except Hank.” He spreads his hands. “Congratulations. You know more personal information about me than anyone else does, making you a primary candidate for friendship. How’s your arm?”

“Shit, with him as your only friend, no wonder you’re desperate to meet someone else.”

Connor sighs and takes a drink from his coffee. “Gavin.”

“Yes?”

“Am I correct in assuming your arm is not infected?”

“You didn’t butcher it, if that’s what you mean.” He flexes his fist. The pain has faded, but he can still feel a stretch along the fresh scar, hidden under his jacket, and the faint itch that comes with the healing process. The stitches will need to come out soon. “So good work, I guess. Tina said I should’ve still seen a doctor.”

“You should have. I’m hardly qualified for that sort of thing and haven’t done it before.”

“That’s reassuring.”

“Do you always act with such little regard for your own health and safety?”

“Are you always so goddamn nosy?” Gavin snaps. “Get off my back and give me some space before I change my mind about keeping my mouth shut. Hank and I aren’t buddies but don’t think for a second I wouldn’t tell him about your little secret.”

“Fine. I’ll leave you be. You’re welcome, by the way,” Connor says with a meaningful glance at Gavin’s arm. He stands and grabs his coffee off the table. “Maybe he was wrong and you’re not worth knowing after all.”

Gavin’s not sure what to say to that, but he brushes it aside as some petty remark from a sour android. He watches Connor leave and head off down the sidewalk before he reopens the journal article he meant to read.

The words keep slipping through his mind as he reads over them, finding it difficult to retain any of the information as he keeps thinking about Connor. An android--a being incapable of feelings--that somehow mimics humanity with ease, blending in without being noticed. Even Hank, as clever as he is, somehow hasn’t caught on to what Connor really is, and Gavin has to admit maybe he wouldn’t have, either, if he didn’t already know otherwise.

But he does know otherwise, so why do Connor’s words sting so much?

* * *

The weekend passes by as it always does and Gavin settles back into his routine at work. He pushes Connor out of his mind and ignores the androids around him, focusing instead on what’s normal, though the intermittent pain and itching in his arm ensures the thoughts never truly go away.

Wednesday is hectic. He’s been halfway across the city and back for interviews, eating lunch in his car, and he’s barely returned to the breakroom when Hank sidles up beside him.

“Miss me?” Gavin asks, starting a brew for his coffee.

“Not a chance. You remember a guy named Derek James?” Hank asks, leaning on the counter beside him.

“The name might ring a bell. What’s up?”

“Last year he reported his android missing. You handled the case: Found where the thing ended up, brought it back to the guy, let him deal with repairs. There wasn’t enough evidence to accuse anyone of theft, and when you tried retrieving the android’s memories, it had been wiped. Total reset.”

“That one. Yeah, I figured it was a setup for an insurance scam or something.” Truth be told, he put it out of his mind the minute it was over. Lost property isn’t the sort of thing he wants to waste his time over, although it did take a fair bit of work to track down the damn thing.

The coffee finishes brewing and he tosses out the k-cup. A thought hits him: What if there was a case filed for Connor under missing property? Missing android cases have become more prevalent over the past year, calling for a new category, but what if he was listed under missing property without a name or description?

If he’s a unique model, someone’s going to want him back.

“He says it assaulted a man,” Hank says grimly. “Said it didn’t like being poked at so it broke a man’s wrist. The victim supports his account, but the android’s gone. Ran off.”

Gavin grabs his coffee and sets it on the break room table. “Maybe it’s buggy,” he says, mulling it over in his head. Maybe Connor’s not that unique, he thinks, and it’s an unsettling thought. “Do you think they’re lying?”

“I don’t know what I think. That’s Chris’s job--it’s his case, but he let me know about it. I’ve told him to come to you if he needs help.”

“Thanks for offering me up,” he says dryly. “Hope he manages. I’m tired of androids, honestly.”

“We’re getting more reports every day, but this is the first I’ve heard of assault, assuming it’s true.” Hank glances to the coffee machine and decides to make himself a cup, grabbing a mug to place under it. “Androids are creepy enough without adding weird-ass malfunctions to the mix. You don’t have an android, do you?”

“Nah. Too weird for me.”

“I wish more people thought the same. I see people walking around talking to them like they’re actual humans, you know? Like their personal trainer bot actually cares about having a conversation and not, like, gathering data for personal advertising.”

“Not like the job market helps.” Gavin’s eyes drift to the androids along the wall. Singular now; the rest are in use. “You think things would be better if they all got scrapped?”

“I wish they had been from the start.” Hank takes his completed brew and sips at the coffee. “Promise me something, Gavin.”

“Yeah?”

“You ever see me talking to one of those things like it’s real, put me out of my damn misery.”

“With pleasure,” Gavin says, forcing out the words with a grin.

The expression fades as Hank returns to his desk. The two of them are hardly unique in their dislike of androids but he wonders all the same how Connor got stuck with the two of them. Connor’s a machine, he tells himself, not a single genuine emotion inside that mechanical mind of his, but part of him almost pities him for trying to find friendship in people who hate him so much.

He sips at his coffee, almost hot enough to burn. Connor shouldn’t matter, but he’s such an anomaly that he can’t get him out of his head. An android that thinks he can feel living like a human… It’s a novel idea. As far as he can tell, the guy isn’t working for CyberLife or anything. Not that he’d put illegal behavior past them, but as far as plans go, having an android play human for more than a week or two would be pointless if not used for undercover work. And this would be shoddy work if he were trying to stay undercover.

A thought in his mind clicks, then, and he wonders why he didn’t think of it sooner. Stubbornness, perhaps. Pride.

What would he have to lose from a friendship with Connor? Worst case scenario, he ends up being a strange man befriending a computer on legs. Or strangled by said computer on legs, but that’s less likely, provided he makes nice with him and hasn’t already ruined that relationship. Best case scenario, he gets over his own damn ego and makes friends with a miracle of modern engineering.

It might be worth a try, he tells himself. Might make himself a little less of a dick, too, even if it turns out Connor’s just glitched.

He takes a look through the DPD’s files once more when he returns to his desk, putting in key words and searching directories where he might find a missing property report from CyberLife. It takes him the better part of an hour and another coffee refill, but eventually he strikes gold with a key word: prototype.

On February 2, 2036, CyberLife reported that an RK800 prototype, serial number 313 248 317 -51, had been missing for five days, presumably stolen. It was inactive and low priority at the time; they didn’t realize it was gone until they needed it for testing. The case was shelved two months later due to insufficient evidence, only to be reopened again in December that year. Past the initial details listed, the only notes on the file are “Reopened by request - JF” and “Insufficient evidence, no resolution - BC.”

Connor’s name isn’t listed, but that’s definitely a photo of him staring blankly at the camera. It gives Gavin an odd feeling to see him dressed up with an android jacket, complete with glowing blue markers and a blue LED at his temple.

He marks the date, model, and serial down on a notepad and tears off the page, shoving it in his pocket before closing the file.

* * *

Gavin tries to forget about Connor. By Friday, he’s given up on that endeavor and finds himself at Tina’s door with a six-pack of beer and a box of pizza. He’s not sure the beer will suffice, but Tina’s got enough wine and vodka to take care of them both if they need it.

She answers the door already dressed down in pajamas and smelling like the artificial strawberry scent of her conditioner. “Hey! Took you long enough to get here,” she says, opening the door for him. “I’m starving.”

“It’s the weekend, what the hell did you expect? Instant pizza? Geeze.” He sets the food and drinks on the table, taking a seat and grabbing the first slice, which nets him a playful glare. “Be glad I got the good kind.”

“What you think is good and what I think is good are two very different things.” She helps herself, setting her slice on a plate and sliding a second plate over to Gavin.

They eat in silence for a few minutes before Tina asks, “How’s your arm?”

The stitches are finally off. It still looks painful, but it’s not inflamed. “Itches like shit if I don’t moisturize it, but it’s doing well. What about how you’ve been? I haven’t seen you much this week.”

“I had to cover some patrols for other officers and I took Wednesday off for an appointment. Spent the rest of the day marathoning that new crime show.”

“Without me?”

“You’d ruin it. I suffer enough with the inconsistencies as it is, let alone whatever shit you spot.”

Gavin laughs, wiping his hands with a napkin. “That’s fair,” he says, cracking open a beer.

“So,” Tina says, toying with her own bottle before popping the lid off. “What’s got your leg bouncing?”

He forces his leg to still, not aware he was even moving it. “You know. Stuff.”

“Gav, hun, come on. You don’t text me for emergency pizza over ‘stuff.’”

“Really weird stuff.” He takes a sizeable drink from his beer, appreciating the room-temperature bubbles as a momentary distraction. “You’re not gonna believe me. I’m not sure I’d believe me if I were you, honestly.”

“What, you got laid?”

“Slow down a bit! That’s exciting, not unrealistic,” he says with a chuckle. “So you remember the bot that fixed up my arm?”

“You slept with--”

“God, Tina, don’t be gross. No. I omitted a few details when I told you about him. I mean, I found out he’s a prototype, so probably one of a kind. Reported missing a couple years back. But the weird thing is he’s trying to blend in with humans. He doesn’t have the light in,” he says, gesturing with a circular motion to his temple, “or any identifiers. He fakes being human. I thought he was gonna die on me when he got stabbed--”

“Hold up, he got stabbed?”

“Same dick that got me. At least, I think it was. I didn’t notice until we were at my place that he wasn’t actually dying and his blood was, you know. Blue.”

“You’re sure?” She peers closely at him.

“Positive. He’s playing at being human and it creeps me out. I saw him talking to Hank--fucking Hank, of all people--and then he asked me not to spill his secret.”

“So you’re here, spilling his secret.”

“Yeah, I’m an asshole. Who else am I gonna tell? I’m freaked out, Tina. I don’t know what to think about all this. He’s not a guy, but it’s weird if I treat him like an android.”

“You’re not addressing the missing report because…?”

Gavin shrugs, crossing his arms. “I don’t know. I just… I don’t know. Maybe because I haven’t seen Hank have a friend in God knows how long. Maybe because I owe him one, android or no.” He chews his lip for a moment. “There’s a puzzle here. I want to solve it.”

“By not solving a case,” Tina says, looking at him with an almost amused expression.

“Shit, what do I care about CyberLife? I work to help people, not corporations. I turn in this tin can, Hank gets heartbroken, I never understand what the hell is up with Connor, and Connor… Fuck. If he thinks he’s a person, what would that make me?”

“So you’ve met him multiple times.”

“Twice. I don’t think he likes me.”

“Is that your fault?”

“Nice vote of confidence, there.” It’s not something he can contest, he thinks, recalling something Connor said about biases. “Probably. He wanted to be my friend.”

She sets her bottle on the table with a loud _clack._ “And you think he doesn’t like you? What the hell did you say to him?”

“Don’t give me a goddamn lecture, alright? I was a dick, I get it. I don’t lose anything from being nice to him and I don’t gain anything from harassing him. If he turns out to be dangerous, then I’ll call CyberLife on him. If not…”

“When do you plan on apologizing?” Tina asks, leaning forward. “That’s a thing that has to happen now if you want to keep contact with him.”

He groans. “God, you’re right. But is it really the right decision? There’s no way he’s a corporate spy or anything, but even if he’s a buggy android that can attack people, that in itself is really weird.”

“He hasn’t attacked people yet.”

“Oh, that.” He takes another swig of his beer. “Yeah, he kinda did. I didn’t want to freak you out and I was still processing shit at the time, but I got stabbed, he did too, and he knocked the guys out before bringing me home to patch me up.”

“I’m gonna be honest, you should probably take that to CyberLife.”

“I should talk to him first. Have an actual conversation. I… Shit, Tina, I never even asked him outright what’s up with him.” Gavin runs a hand through his hair. “What if he feels emotions? What if he convinces me he feels emotions? If he thinks he’s a person, thinks he feels, then is that any different from actually being one?”

She reaches over and takes his hand, rubbing her thumb across the back of it. “First off, I never studied philosophy and neither did you; I don’t think there’s a good answer to that one. Second, yeah, you should talk. I think it’s definitely creepy, but if you don’t think your data’s being collected and sent back somewhere, then go for it. Settle your mind, if nothing else. And third... “ She smiles at him. “You could do with another friend. If he’s, you know, trustworthy. It might do you some good to get out more.”

“I don’t know what androids actually do. Uh, him, I mean. Singular android. I don’t know if others like him even exist.”

“Simple. If he thinks he’s a person, then he does people things.” Tina shrugs and lets go of his hand. “This is fucking weird, though. You gotta tell me what you find out about him.”

“Promise. Hey, so his android-ness is actually meant to be a secret…”

Tina mimes zipping her lips. “I won’t even tell Hank. I’m leaving that ball in your court. I just hope you’re making the right decision.”

He sighs. “Me too.”

“If shit goes south, you let someone know, alright? Whether that’s me, Hank, Fowler, CyberLife… If he gets too weird, quit playing.”

“I’m not playing, Tina. I’m taking this seriously. I just need someone to talk to about this before I start to lose my mind. He’s real, he’s an android, and I’m not making it up.”

“Hey, man. I believe you. And I trust you,” Tina says. “But I don’t always trust you to do what’s best for yourself.”

Gavin slumps in his chair with a tired grin. “Where would I be without you looking out for me?”

“You’d have, like, twenty cats.”

“My social life isn’t that bad.”

“Gav, this is your Friday night.”

He laughs and grabs another beer. “Maybe it’s a little bad. How about we watch a movie or something?”

“Terminator? I, Robot? Or were you thinking more WALL-E?”

“None of the fucking above,” Gavin says, groaning. “Just put on the cheesiest thing you can find.”

Tina opens an app on her phone and flicks her finger across the screen. “On it.”


	3. Chapter 3

Connor lies back on top of a desk, staring at the off-white ceiling above him as sunlight filters through the broken blinds of his home.

If he were human, this could hardly be called a home, and he’s not so sure it’s suitable for him even as an android. It addresses his basic need for shelter and he has no strict need for furniture or temperature controls, but as far as living spaces go, it isn’t cozy.

The place has been abandoned for some time since the company building it filed for bankruptcy, leaving the office building half-finished and undisturbed. Only a few rooms have any furnishings, his being one of them with with a desk, two chairs, a filing cabinet that hides his few belongings, and a table he dragged in from the breakroom to set his fish tank on. He’s been careful not to use the lights or heating system, and the energy his tank uses has gone under the radar so far.

His gaze flickers to the fish tank where his pets are currently resting, though one of the android fish darts about. That one likes the sunrise. It’s a little odd: The behavior is not coded into it, but neither has the fish broken from its programming. If it feels emotions, they’re different from his.

He wonders if that’s the case for humans, that his emotions are different from theirs.

Gavin seems to think so.

He isn’t surprised the human turned him away, but the hostility still hurts. Connor’s lonely and right now he’s far too aware of it when the only person who knows his secret still thinks of him as an object, a thing. There aren’t any other androids like him to compare to.

As possible outcomes go, it’s not so bad. If he were human, it would be an awful life. As an android… at least he’s free.

He lies there for hours, thoughts idly spinning in his head as he half-watches his fish and the rising of the sun. The city awakens outside and the sound of traffic can be heard in the distance. People living their lives, heading to work or to see their friends, taking care of responsibilities and walking their dogs.

Part of him wishes he were normal. Human. His Saturday mornings wouldn’t consist of sitting about or wandering aimlessly until he decided on something to do. He could have a job, giving him tasks and responsibilities, or even school. Buying, preparing, and consuming food would become a necessity. He could have hobbies like sports or art, things that he could share and engage in with other people.

He would have a family. He would have friends.

Slowly, he pushes himself to sit up and end his train of thought. As much as he cares about Hank, having a police lieutenant in his life is dangerous. Knowing too many people could become fatal. And Gavin…

A pang shoots through his heart. By all calculations, the chance of Gavin turning him in within the next month is high. The fish would die if not cared for. Hank would be devastated. And Connor wants to live.

If he’s even alive.

He takes his phone from the pocket of his jeans and stands, finding the right angle for a picture of his fish. He takes a few, making sure to get different perspectives, and he even manages to capture an image of the shyest fish when it emerges from its hiding spot.

Satisfied, he texts one of the pictures to Hank. It’s too early to expect a timely response, but he feels a little lighter for having shared the image and feels secure in the knowledge that no identifying features for the location were included.

He changes out of his shirt and jeans into fresh ones--the jeans identical, the shirt a secondhand band tee--and dons his jacket. With summer fast approaching, it isn’t strictly necessary, but it’s comforting. It’s something that’s his, something constant and safe in his life.

“I’ll see you all later,” he says softly, tapping some flakes into the tank and smiling fondly as the fish gather to eat. The mechanical ones swim with them, not eating but joining as if participating in a social event. He scans each one quickly to make sure all are healthy and the tank is performing optimally, and finds everything satisfactory.

“Love you,” he says. The arapaima digitally sends him a heart emoji, drifting close to the glass. “Be good.”

He takes the cloth shopping bag filled with his dirty laundry and leaves, closing the door behind him before making his way out of the building.

The laundromat is busy and yet quiet when he arrives. Almost all of the machines are in use and another person is standing around, leaning against the wall and tapping at their phone. They look up when Connor enters, saying a quick hello before looking back down.

Connor places his clothes in a machine, feeds it some coins, and starts the cycle. He takes a seat, setting the empty bag next to him, and closes his eyes. Playing with apps on his phone inevitably leads to the desire for socialization and the use of social media; best to sit with his own thoughts if he’s not going anywhere.

The door chimes as another person enters and sets up their washing. Most people would leave at this point, or take a seat with a courteous amount of space, but this one sits in the seat right next to Connor. It’s odd, he thinks, but quickly he pieces together information gained from audio--approximate weight, gender, and gait--and opens his eyes.

“Detective.”

“Connor,” Gavin says. He looks wide awake and a little nervous. He’s dressed for the weather in jeans and a t-shirt, showing the healing scar on his arm. It’s healing well, considering it was probably never seen by a professional, and the stitches have been removed. “Didn’t think I’d bump into you again.”

“I rather hoped you wouldn’t.” He faces Gavin, watching every movement closely. For all he knows, these could be his last free minutes, although his initial impression indicates that Gavin doesn’t hold ill intent. He doesn’t let any fear show on his face. “Nor did you need to. There are other seats.”

“Why take one of those when I want to talk to you?”

“What about?”

“Things I’ve been thinking about.”

“You’ll have to be more specific.” His jaw tightens and he glances at the other person in the room. “If you’re going to act on my secret, at least have the decency to tell me outright. If not, I don’t believe we have reason to talk.”

“Okay, look.” Gavin splays his hands and his expression turns serious. “I’m not gonna put you in harm’s way. I won’t tell Hank and I won’t tell--anyone else. Don’t really see the point.”

“Good. Is that everything?”

“And I’m sorry.”

Connor blinks at him a few times. “You’re sorry?”

“Last week, at the café. I was a dick.” He scratches at the scar on his arm. “You were trying to be nice. Don’t get me wrong, I still don’t think you’re genuine, but the way I figure, it doesn’t hurt anyone to go along with it.”

“I haven’t received a lot of apologies, but that may be the worst yet.” Gavin’s willingness to talk without argument is an improvement, but not a big one. It soothes his nerves but he doesn’t let down his guard. “You’ve left a poor impression. Consider my offer of friendship retracted.”

“That’s valid.” Gavin pulls out his wallet and a pen, slipping out a business card and writing a number on the back before offering it to him. “I owe you one, after you helped me out. Not a lot of people would’ve done that for me. If you need a favor or want to chat, text me. Or don’t, and I won’t bother you again.”

Connor takes the card slowly, recording the numbers on the front and back before putting the card in one of his jacket’s pockets. “I’ll think about it.”

Gavin nods at him and leans back in his chair. After a moment of deliberation, he scoots over to the next seat, leaving a space between them.

Connor doesn’t have any intention of contacting him again, but it feels like there’s a small weight off his back knowing that Gavin doesn’t wholly reject him.

* * *

He texts Gavin on Tuesday. Before either of them know it, they’re standing in line on Sunday morning to enter the aquarium, two printed passes in Gavin’s hand.

“It’s too fucking early for this,” Gavin says, squinting in the bright sunlight. Sure, nine in the morning isn’t technically early, but this is outside of his comfort zone, so it counts.

“If we came later in the day, we would be competing with crowds of children for viewing space,” Connor says. It’s the first time Gavin’s seen him without that jacket and his arms look pasty and pale like he’s never had a tan. He’s wearing a Gears hat and sunglasses. Gavin belatedly wonders if they’re a means to conceal his appearance, since he probably doesn’t need them.

The line moves and they shuffle forward. Gavin offers the tickets to the attendant, who barely glances at the tickets before letting them through.

“Why the aquarium?”

“I like fish.”

“You can see fish in the grocery store.”

“I thought we weren’t going to argue.” Connor raises an eyebrow.

“Hey, set some reasonable expectations. I’m not a saint,” Gavin says good-naturedly.

They’re not quite friends, but somehow they’re taking another shot at it. Connor broke the ice with a text asking about his day, and the two slowly fell into a rhythm of texting each other a little bit each day, getting to know each other on a superficial level. He knows Connor walks dogs and likes coffee, and Connor knows about Gavin’s job and some of his hobbies. Not meaningful information, but enough to start from, their previous tension pushed to the background thanks to small talk.

Then Connor asked for--demanded, really--help attending the aquarium. Tickets require a valid ID and credit card payment. He could have purchased a prepaid card and input false details, but it’s much safer if it can’t be tracked back to him. It made the most sense for the two of them to visit together since it was Gavin purchasing the tickets, and now the two of them are here.

Gavin slows his pace to stand by Connor in the first room, a cautiously delighted expression on the android’s face. Gavin’s never been to this aquarium himself and he lets himself watch the fish as they dart around. Even in the single exhibit they’re looking at there’s a wide variety of fish, a couple of them colorful but most of them silver. “Why fish?” he asks. “They’re neat and all, but I’m curious. What about them do you like?”

“Is this an attempt to analyze me?” Connor asks lightly, his eyes jumping from one fish to another. He’s taken off his sunglasses; they’re hanging on the collar of his shirt.

“It’s whatever you want to call it. I want to know how you think. I’d probably ask the same question if you weren’t--you know. Aquarium tickets are a weird favor to ask. I thought you’d want, I don’t know, a car ride somewhere.”

“Are they? I don’t have the same opportunities as you do. It might be strange if I could visit on my own, but you or Hank are my only way in.” He looks at Gavin briefly before stepping over to the next tank. “You didn’t need to join me.”

“I wanted to. Might as well see this place sometime, right? I drive by it often enough.”

“I think I just like them,” he says. “They can be so energetic. There’s so many aquatic life forms out there it would be difficult not to like some of them, and I appreciate a lot of life that I encounter. I don’t know that I have a particular preference for fish compared to other animals, but… I suppose you could say I think they’re cute.”

“Cute, huh? I guess I can see it. Most people go for dogs or cats.”

“They’re certainly more fond of engaging with people. I think they’re cute, too. I petsit and walk dogs for a living.”

“A living, huh? Doesn’t sound like it would make you that much.”

“I can’t exactly afford rent anywhere, but my needs are met, and so are those of my pets.”

“Where do you keep them?”

“Where I live is a secret I’ll keep to myself for now.” Connor looks like he’s starting to relax--not trusting, but neither is he as tense as he was when they met up earlier. “I… I keep fish. They’re quiet and don’t need more space than their tank. It’s safer than having a more active pet, although should I ever need to move them, it would be tedious.”

“They anything like these ones?” Gavin taps at the glass of the next exhibit and Connor quickly but gently pushes his arm back down.

“Don’t tap the glass, Gavin,” he chides. “Some of them are, but… Here.” He takes out his phone, tapping at the screen.

Despite having texted with him previously, it isn’t until now that Gavin’s struck with the thought of how odd it is for an android to have their own phone. Yet here Connor is right in front of him, as casual and normal and human-looking as if he were a real man, and the image of him frowning softly down at his phone as he brings up his photo app chips away a little bit more at his insistence that Connor isn’t really a person. His skin may be little more than an illusion and his expressions may be the result of programming, but he fits in well enough that Gavin could almost think he were here with a friend or a date.

Then there’s a phone in his face. “Here they are. Some of them, at least.”

Gavin takes the phone. There’s a picture of a fish tank--a large one with a full environment built inside of it--and a number of fish floating inside it. He can’t say he recognizes any of them, but he’s never been a fish person. “That’s a lot of different kinds. Do they all get along?”

“Yes.” Connor reaches over to swipe to the next picture. “I only chose fish that would play nice with each other. See this one?” he asks, pointing to a cyan-and-white fish with orange stripes.

Gavin’s eyes roam over the tank in front of them and he points at one of the fish. “Same as that one. Dwarf gourami,” he says after looking at the informational placard on the side.

Connor nods. “_Trichogaster lalius_. A beautiful fish, don’t you think?”

“It’s definitely bright. What’s that one?” he asks, pointing to a fish just in the corner of the image with a bright blue LED. “It’s not very colorful.”

Connor swipe across two more photos before ending on one with the fish, showing it clearly. Another fish in the background also has an LED. “_Arapaima gigas_. The fish is too large for personal aquariums, so CyberLife manufactured miniature versions. They aren’t very popular, but this one’s a sweetheart.”

“You don’t think it’s strange, owning android fish?”

“What frame of reference do I have for normality?” Connor moves towards the next exhibit, an open-top tank with flowing water and small, bright river fish. “I care for them as I do my organic fish. Their AI is well made, but still much simpler than the standard android. Even with substandard care they would be content, but I try to make sure their environment is suitable.”

“Neat. Do you care about them?” Gavin blurts out.

“Clearly. They’re my pets, of course I love them,” Connor says as if it’s the most natural answer. “All of them. I may have purchased them because they’re pretty and I’m lonely, but--” His mouth clicks shut and he turns to look again at the exhibit. A bright yellow fish bumps against the glass beside them.

Loneliness isn’t unfamiliar for Gavin, but empathizing with an android is. The more Connor talks, the more he’s starting to believe his feelings may be real. “And Hank’s pressing you to make friends because your only friends are fish and him.”

“Well, Sumo, too.”

“Sumo can’t talk back.”

“No. Hank has a point, but you’re a shining example of why I don’t try making friends.” He sighs and shifts his weight. “I hate lying to Hank, let alone anyone else, but I can’t exactly tell the truth.”

“Bet he thinks you’ve even got a nice little apartment.” Gavin walks alongside him as they move along to the next room, passing a family with a gaggle of kids all wearing matching shirts. “Or a shitty one, whichever. You got some story about family?”

“He doesn’t pry. I have a story I tell acquaintances, but not him. He’s clever enough to catch me in a lie with a believable alternative. I’m not sure if it’s beneficial or detrimental that my reality is outside the realm of believability.”

“I’m still getting used to it.” He recalls his conversation with Tina the other day and chews his lip. “If you want, I have a friend who’d probably be open to meeting you. She’s nicer than me.”

Connor shakes his head. “It’s not something I should risk.”

“That’s fair. Still, you might like her. I trust her with my life and she can keep a secret.”

“You overestimate the amount I value your word and judgment.”

“Keep it in mind. You know, in case you get sick of me and Hank.”

“In that case, I will.” Connor’s eyes crinkle ever so slightly at the corners as he smiles. “It won’t come to that if you remain civil. I haven’t had many opportunities to hang out with people. It’s nice. I may have written you off too soon.”

“Shit, I can’t blame you for that. But second chances and all that, right?”

“You could call it that.”

“And the aquarium’s not bad.” Gavin watches a large silver river fish glide past, followed by one in hues of yellow. Both are at least twice the size of his head. “What are your fishes’ names?”

“I haven’t thought about naming them. I haven’t needed to, since I don’t show them to anyone. Usually,” he amends. “Maybe I should.”

“I don’t actually know if most people name their fish,” Gavin says. “Speaking of ‘shoulds,’ I’ve got a question for you.” He pulls a folded piece of paper from his wallet and hands it to him. “Is this you?”

Connor takes it carefully, unfolding it and quickly refolding it, expression carefully neutral. “What is this?”

“We’ve got a missing report. Closed, reopened, and closed again. I guess take this as an FYI that we’ve got that info, photo included. It might come up again if CyberLife wants to dig into these missing cases, since there have been a lot of them lately. It’s bound to become a PR nightmare. Gonna be honest, I wanted to look into that a bit more myself, but even if I don't know what to think of you, that doesn’t mean I want you to get hurt. If you want to let me know something, you’ll tell me. You don’t look like you’re gonna turn on me, anyway.”

“I’m flattered,” Connor says dryly. He pockets the slip of paper. “What do you know about these other cases?”

“Nothing. I’m not on most of them and I didn’t take a close look. If any of them are like you, I don’t know. Personal curiosity’s the only reason I went digging.”

“Can you find out for me?”

“I guess. I shouldn’t give you case details, but I could tell you if any sound like you. Why? You interested in meeting them?”

“Something like that,” Connor says. “I want to know if I’m alone or not. Whether I’m an anomaly or there are actually people like me out there.” The path to the next room leads them under a tunnel, fish swimming around and above them. The Amazon Tunnel, a sign declares.

“I know a little about what that feels like.” Gavin looks at Connor’s face, taking in all the too-human details. His expressions are muted, but somehow he manages to express that painful feeling of not belonging and feeling alone that Gavin himself has felt far too often. “Do you ever regret helping me?”

“No,” Connor says. “I think that, despite the risk, I will benefit from our friendship. It’s a risky endeavor in stepping out of my comfort zone, you could say. It goes without saying that you have already benefited.”

“Because of my arm?”

“I got you out here to see the fish, didn’t I?”

“Ah. The fish. My life would be bereft without this experience.”

“Clearly.” Connor looks above them and Gavin follows his gaze, watching two huge fish resting at the top of the tunnel. “Arapaima,” he says, “just like my fish.”

“I see why they don’t make good pets,” he says. They’re at least the size of a dog. “Are they all this big?”

“Bigger, sometimes.”

“Neat.” Gavin finds the placard and reads the blurb about the fish as Connor watches the other fish in the tank. “You seem like the kind of guy who would want to work at a place like this. Or, like, animals in general.”

“Good guess. A given, since my interest in animals is about all you know about me. Practically, there’s no point in considering a career for my future at this point in time. If I had the opportunity, I would be interested in wildlife conservation or rehabilitation, aquatic life especially. Aquariums are one kind of institution that contribute to such a goal.”

“Not lions or any of the big fluffy animals?”

“I could, but there’s something I like about animals that have the whole ocean before them. No buildings, no settlements, only whatever waste has been dumped there. It feels… free.”

“How free are they if their environment is heating up and gathering garbage?”

“How free are you? You’re on the same track.”

“Good point.” Gavin trails his hand along the glass, following the path of a grey fish the size of his arm. “You ever been out on the lake?”

“No. Between caring for my pets, feeding myself, and paying for clothing and transportation, I don’t have much money to spare, and I keep that set aside in case I get injured. But it’s a nice thought.” Connor’s gaze follows his hand before settling again on the fish. “So is having a job. Having a place in the world. The life I have now isn’t the one that I want.”

“We could do that sometime. Going out on the lake, I mean.”

Connor pauses at the end of the tunnel. “Would you want to?”

“Sure. I’ve rented a boat a few times. Got my certification and everything.” He pats the pocket that holds his wallet. “I use it every now and then. I can invite you along when I’ve got some free time.”

“I’d like that.”

“It’s real nice at sunset. Sunrise, too, but hell if I’m gonna get up that early just because the sky’s pretty.”

“When was the last time you saw the sunrise on the lake?”

Gavin scratches the back of his neck as they enter the stingray exhibit room. “Couple years ago, maybe. I’m not getting up that early just to take you on the lake for sunrise.”

“You sound like you would appreciate the experience as well,” Connor says. “People do a lot in the pursuit of things that are visually appealing. Getting up a few hours early on the weekend is a small sacrifice to make.”

“What do you find visually appealing? Other than animals. Is it the same as most people?”

“Generally, yes. Sometimes something mundane will catch my attention, like a crack in the pavement or the details of a plant. Sometimes it’s people that draw my eye. Everyone’s appearance holds some interest for me. Some more than others,” Connor says, and he not-so-subtly looks Gavin up and down. “But that’s typical.”

Gavin’s face grows warm. “Careful. I might start to think you’re flirting.”

Connor raises his eyebrows in surprise. “I was only answering your question with complete honesty. I don’t think I’ve flirted with anyone before.”

“Don’t worry about it, I was jok--”

“But I’d like to.”

Gavin’s brain blanks for a moment. “Oh. Yeah. I mean, it’s fun.”

“I gather that.” Connor smiles. “Your ears are red, detective.”

“Your flirting sucks.”

“That wasn’t flirting.” He stops beside Gavin, watching the stingrays. “But I would be amenable to flirting with you. We could even call the boat ride a date.”

“Just like that, huh?” Their shoulders are touching. Gavin admires the stingrays swimming past. He’s always liked them, but never seen them in person despite living so close. “This isn’t just because I know, right? Or some attempt to butter me up? Cause that’d be kind of shitty.”

“I want to trust you and I find you attractive. That you are one of very few options does not negate that I have some level of interest in you. Relationships have been founded on less.” A pause. “And I would very much like that sunrise boat ride.”

“I’m not a romantic, you know. I just like to go fishing every once in a while.” There’s something surreal about this, the asking-out-but-not-quite conversation not being one he’s had before.

“I may not know you well, but I’m good at reading people. I’m intrigued by you now that you’re being respectful and I’m fairly certain you’re not a threat.” Connor turns to face him fully. “I want to know you better, whatever form our relationship takes, and… I want to be known by someone. Even if that someone’s a guy who picks fights he can’t win.”

“I’ll have you know I had that completely handled.”

“You sure did.” Connor grins at him, then dips down and kisses him quickly on the lips.

Gavin feels lightheaded and he chuckles, a bit surprised. “You’re serious.”

“Yes,” Connor says simply, looking at him with an intense expression that’s one part vulnerable and three parts serious. “It may be an unorthodox and impulsive decision, but in my experience, you’re not unfamiliar with that. Are you interested?”

Won’t hurt to give it a try, Gavin thinks, and he takes Connor’s hand, linking their fingers together. “So tell me more about that big-ass Amazon fish.”


	4. Chapter 4

Gavin wakes with a groan, stretching out across the bed and feeling satisfied at how comfortable it leaves him feeling. Sun peeks through from the curtains and the temperature is warming up; too hot to sleep, but not yet uncomfortable enough to kick his ass out of bed just yet.

Connor smiles down at him when he cracks his eyes open, cheek against his knuckles as he keeps his head propped up on his elbow. “Morning, babe.” His voice is rough like he just woke up and his eyes are as warm as the sun.

“Morning,” Gavin grunts. “Did you fuck with the air conditioning again?”

“Only a couple degrees.” Connor runs his fingers across Gavin’s chest, dragging them through the coarse hair and across old scars, lingering only a moment on the faded scars under his pectorals. “You’re grumpy when you oversleep.”

He closes his eyes. “More grumpy when I don’t sleep enough.”

“Nine and a half hours is plenty.” Connor leans down and kisses his lips, slow and lingering. “If you miss your morning workout, you’ll be insufferable.”

“You’re insufferable.” Gavin grins, kissing his cheek and sitting up. “God, fine, I’m up.”

It’s been months since their first date at the aquarium and somehow, their relationship hasn’t blown up. It’s been rough--Connor afforded him far more patience than he deserved at the start until he finally, fully came around on the whole android thing, no longer angry at or paranoid about androids in general and with a lot more understanding about Connor to boot. They’re far from perfect, but their friendship and relationship continue to grow and thrive.

Gavin lumbers out of bed with a yawn, grabbing a set of clothes for a run and changing into them while Connor watches from the bed. Around the room he can see markers of Connor’s life here: A shirt on the floor, a sweater sticking out from the drawer, a keychain on the bedside table. Connor moving in with him is a decision they both deliberated over for some time, but they both agreed that it would be the safest situation for Connor and they would figure something out in the case of a break-up. The place he was staying wouldn’t remain available indefinitely and Gavin had enough space in the living room for the fish tank.

Tina had, of course, been delighted and concerned at the development--the fish being an unavoidable conversation starter--and, while slow to trust, she eventually came around. Now she and Connor are friends, and life feels pretty normal for the first time in a long time. He can tell it’s something Connor sorely needed, too. The android looks less lost and anxious than he did when they first met.

“Tina’s coming over for lunch, right?”

“I think so,” Connor says, climbing out of bed. Gavin turns to half-watch him. He’s not sure he’ll ever get tired of looking at him like this, hair tousled and wearing only boxers, a content look on his face that lingers when he wakes from stasis. “She said she’d stop by the pharmacy first, so she might be late. We can keep some casserole warm for her.”

“I thought we were doing sandwiches.”

“Changed my mind. I’m craving canned chicken.” Connor kisses his cheek once Gavin’s dressed. “Which means I’m stopping by the store after I meet up with Hank. Need anything?”

“Another kiss might be nice,” Gavin says cheekily. “I don’t think there’s anything, but I’ll text you if there is. How’re the fish?”

Connor blinks twice, a telltale twitch Gavin’s learned to read as an indicator that he’s communicating digitally. “Pam says everything is optimal,” he says, referencing the name Gavin gave the mini arapaima a week after Connor moved in. It turns out the fish is rather chatty and has taken to texting the both of them throughout the day; the conversations are simple but Gavin’s warming up to the fish. “I’ll need to top up their thirium this week.”

“How’s yours?”

“I’ve got plenty, don’t worry about me.” Connor gives him a peck on the lips. “Stay safe.”

“You too.” Gavin turns and hugs him briefly before letting go. “Don’t go picking any fights without me.”

Connor laughs. “I promise not to.”

* * *

Connor meets Hank at the park by 9:30, wearing his hat and sunglasses and with two coffees in hand. It’s hot--Augusts have been getting hotter every year--and they neet to cut the walk short for Sumo’s sake, if not their own. They drive to Hank’s place in his car, where Hank makes them some more coffee and Sumo sprawls out over the floor, soothed by the coolness of the tiles against his belly.

Connor sits at the kitchen table, untouched mug of coffee between his hands, fingernails tapping against the ceramic. Hank may have been in a slump, but he’s been rising out of that little by little over the year Connor’s known him. There’s no good reason to believe that he won’t catch on someday. Connor hasn’t sweat a drop despite the heat, nor has he exhibited thirst or dehydration symptoms. His hair brushes back smoothly, unaffected by the hat--now on the table with his glasses--or the weather. It never grows and he’s never shown stubble. His recollection is perfect, his teeth are commercial-worthy, and he hasn’t once gotten sick.

It would make for a good vampire joke if he weren’t worried about his safety.

Still, this is Hank. A good man despite his flaws, and one who certainly cares for Connor. Whether or not Hank’s figured it out already, Connor wants to tell him on his own terms.

“Something on your mind?” Hank asks, sitting across from him. His hair’s frizzy from the humidity and there’s sweat lingering on his face where he failed to wipe it off. Connor can’t help but feel a pang of jealousy. “Or are you just tapping for the hell of it?”

Connor’s fingers pause mid-motion before settling against the mug. “I’m gathering my thoughts. There is something I want to talk about, but…” He licks his lips. “I’m nervous. I shouldn’t be. Delaying this discussion won’t change anything.”

Hank leans forward, suddenly serious. “What’s going on, Connor? Is everything okay?”

“I think so. Look, I… What do you think of androids?” He’s not sure if he’s stalling now or trying to come up with an excuse to leave with his tail tucked between his legs. “I know it’s a strange question, but bear with me here.”

“Christ, don’t tell me you’re thinking of getting one.”

“No, Gavin and I aren’t planning anything like that.”

“What would Gavin have to do with... “ Hank raises his eyebrows. “Don’t tell me you’re moving in with that asshole.”

“I already have, but that’s not the point. I’m just curious. You’ve never seemed fond of them, but I’m not sure if you don’t like them or you’re passing judgment on the people we pass by.”

“Little bit of both. After last night, I wouldn’t blame people if they started returning their androids in droves.”

Connor’s brow furrows. “Last night?”

“It was all over the news, just north of here. Some housekeeper model almost dove off a building with a kid in tow. It was waving a gun around and everything. There was a SWAT standoff because of a fucking machine.” He takes a gulp of his coffee. “You know what CyberLife did about it?”

“No,” Connor says softly. His chest feels tight. “I don’t.”

“They sent another android to deal with it. Imagine that: One android picks up a gun, so they send another to shoot it.” He shakes his head. “On national television.”

The words slip out before he can consider them. “Isn’t that what humans do?”

“No android’s safe enough to carry a gun. One malfunction and you’ve got a dead person,” Hank says firmly. “They can kill people doing exactly what they’re designed to do. Design them to carry a gun and you’re asking for trouble, let alone the ones that go haywire. Because that’s a thing now. Androids breaking their programming to hurt people. CyberLife’s hushing it up to keep their profits turning, and then we get bullshit like this.”

“I see.” Connor takes a long, slow sip of his coffee, letting the taste linger on his tongue. There’s no sugar to disrupt the flavor of the coffee, and he indulges in the soothing bitterness.

“Maybe it’s not the answer you were looking for. So yeah, I don’t like the things.”

He runs his thumb along the side of the mug, catching a drop as it rolls down. “Do you know why they’re hurting people?”

“I work homicide, which definitely does not cover this. My best guess is it’s a glitch that CyberLife doesn’t know how to patch. It’s recent, but seems to be present in a lot of older models, too.” Hank leans on the table, arms crossed. “So what’s your sudden interest in androids? You finally got a job offer? Because hell, even if the android situation tanks, you could do with a couple months of steady work.”

“I appreciate your honesty, Hank.” Connor almost feels detached from his body. His anxiety has calmed to an icy chill across his back. “And I appreciate your support. Do you remember back in spring, when you offered to help me if I were to be in any danger?”

“Yes. Are you?” Hank asks, voice low and rough.

“Not immediately. I’ve always been at risk of being captured or killed, but I suspect that risk is rising. I’d like to have your support. Or… or, alternatively, to know if I cannot rely on you.”

“You’re going to need to catch me up here. Start from the beginning or something, because we’ve gone from androids to, what, witness protection? The mob? You know something and someone doesn’t like that?”

“I’m an android.”

Hank takes a long look at him, then huffs out a laugh. “Alright, I’ll stop guessing. What’s going on, Connor?”

Connor reaches forward, resting his hand halfway across the table, and deactivates the skin on that limb.

There’s a strained silence as Hank’s breath catches and his eyes slowly widen, trailing a path up Connor’s arm. It’s pale, pristine white and grey up to the shoulder, the plastic shining under the sunlight.

“What the fuck,” Hank breathes. He looks uncertain, confused, puzzled, and overall rather stunned. It’s not a pleasant reaction, but it gives Connor a shred of hope regardless, because there’s no disgust there, no hatred or anger. Only shock.

He reactivates the dermal layer, covering his chassis in seconds and returning the illusion of humanity as he pulls his arm back in. “CyberLife wants me back,” he says quietly, voice wavering. “They couldn’t previously afford the negative image of an android like me, but now they have the room to publicize a search. If they resume looking for me, they’ll find me. I wanted to tell you regardless, but given the presumed imminent urgency of attempting to locate malfunctioning androids, I want to know if you can hold to your promise.”

“You’re an android.” Hank sits up straight and runs a hand through his hair. “You’re not fucking with me, are you? This isn’t some elaborate prank?”

“No.” Connor fixes him with a hard gaze. “Are you going to turn me in?”

“I--No, I’m not. I just… Fuck.” He stands up and starts to pace the kitchen, too much restless energy to remain still. “What the hell is this? What… What are you?”

Hank’s stress is high. Dilated pupils, nervous energy, and he’s picking at his nails, making a few aborted motions to raise his hands that Connor suspects is an old habit of biting his fingernails.

“What do I look like to you, Hank?”

“You look like Connor, that’s what you look like. Some guy with a sad face and too much hair product.” Hank grimaces. “How much of you is genuine?”

“Most of what you know of me is true, aside from anything I may have said about my background.” He spreads his hands, palms up. “I’m just a guy. I like dogs and my pet fish. I go out on the lake every other weekend with my boyfriend and I share coconut milk lattes with my best friend on Saturdays. I’m tired of keeping secrets and being lonely, and I don’t want to die. I know it won’t be simple to accept me just like that,” he says, snapping his fingers, “especially given your distaste for androids. But I’m still Connor.”

“Are you?”

“The Connor you know is the same as I’ve always been. I was never human in the first place. I don’t know what parts of my being have been determined by my programming or the people around me--nature or nurture, if you will--but I am now what the sequence of events in my life has led me to become. I’m irrevocably different from humans yet similar in enough respects that I think I should be considered equal.” He tilts his head downwards to look into his mug and runs a finger around the rim. “I even have a sense of taste.”

Hank slows his pacing to a stop, settling back into his chair. “Your sense of taste his shit,” he says gruffly, the words coming slowly. “You could’ve done better than Gavin Reed.”

It isn’t what Connor wanted, but it’s enough, and he appreciates the note of levity. “Are you jealous? You should’ve said something earlier.”

“Christ,” Hank says, and a small grin makes its way onto his face. “Have you told Gavin? I know it started as a hookup, but you’re kind of serious now, right?”

Connor blinks at him, running over the thought in his mind. “It didn’t start as a--oh,” he says as it clicks. “I said I took him home, didn’t I? The implication was a joke. I intervened in the bar fight where his arm was injured, then took him home when he passed out.”

“You didn’t call a fucking ambulance?”

“I didn’t want to leave him alone while they were en route and I couldn’t let them see me bleeding blue, so I chose a tertiary option.” He smiles a toothy smile. “Bar fights aren’t exactly responsible, either.”

“Which means you’re an android who’s attacked a human,” Hank says. It’s less of an accusation and more like he’s still working to understand this.

“In defense of another human,” Connor says. “I respect people and hold to the ideal of maintaining peace. I’m a person, Hank. I think and act like one. I’m not inclined towards violence if I can help it, but neither will I be a pushover or an idle bystander. In my position, I believe you would have done the same thing.”

“Alright. Okay.” Hank sighs. “So… okay. CyberLife wants you back because you technically belong to them. Is there anything else that’s different because you’re an android?”

“I don’t have a legal identity and I haven’t manufactured a false one. Otherwise, not much.” He shrugs. “When I left, I was CyberLife’s most advanced prototype. I don’t know if that still holds true, but they won’t want my technology in someone else’s hands. I may be a priority case.”

“Well, shit.” Hank runs a hand through his hair again. “This is real. You’re really…”

Connor retracts the skin on his hand again just long enough to make a point. “Can we still be friends?”

Hank nods. “Yeah. Yeah, just… I need some time. I need to think about this. I don’t know what to think right now.”

“Can you promise to talk to me or Gavin first if you come to any sort of conclusion that would end in my death?”

“God, I’m not gonna--yes, damnit, I promise. I don’t want to put you in trouble. I need to get my thoughts straight.” Hank runs his hands down his face. “Give me some time. I gotta make lunch before I spin my head in circles like this.”

“Oh, shit,” Connor says, standing quickly. “I was going to help with lunch. Tina’s coming over. To our place, I mean.” He dips a hand in his pocket, hesitating only a moment before interfacing with his phone to call a cab. He spends a fraction of a second after that to consider the best grocery store on his route to stop by. “Text me sometime when you’re ready to talk.”

“Will do.”

Connor kneels down to pet Sumo for a minute, the dog still sprawled out on the floor, then he leaves, feeling more optimistic than he did arriving here.

* * *

Two weeks later, Gavin gets a call.

His phone’s been beeping at him for the past few minutes, a bright little _ding _singing out each time a text is received, and now someone’s trying to call him. He sips at his beer while leaning back on the couch with his feet next to the fish tank on the coffee table and glances towards the window. It’s dark out, the sun having set hours ago with only artificial lights to brighten the city.

There’s nobody who should be calling him this late except telemarketers. He has half a mind to ignore it before grudgingly admitting that maybe Tina or Connor could want something from him. Tina’s on a date, so it’s doubtful, and Connor’s with Hank, so it’s also doubtful. Although, thinking on it, maybe something came up with Hank; it seems the two have been on tense terms lately, but he hasn’t gotten frustrated enough to pry into it just yet.

The phone says Lt. Hank Anderson is calling.

He answers the call right before it can reach voicemail. It better not be work. “Sup?”

“Did Connor leave his phone at home?”

“What?” Gavin looks over his shoulder towards the kitchen in a quick scan for the phone, but it’s not there. “No, he always has it on him. Why? Did he lose it somewhere?”

“He was supposed to meet me an hour ago. Did he say he was gonna stop somewhere while he was out?” The concern in Hank’s voice is clear. “I can’t get ahold of him.”

“He’s probably fine. Traffic jam or something. Uh, he might’ve stopped for coffee? Probably at a gas station since it’s so late. Con’s a fucking demon when it comes to coffee.” Gavin’s caught him eating brewed coffee grounds like cereal more than once. It’s some strange mix of repulsive and endearing. “Give him some more time before you start freaking out. I’ll give him a call and let you know if I find anything out, alright?”

“Sure. Yeah.” Gavin can hear him moving about on the other end of the line. “Did he seem upset when he left? He and I haven’t been on great terms lately.”

“Nah, he was excited. Optimistic. Said he was looking forward to seeing you again. I don’t know what he sees in you, but I think he genuinely likes you.”

“God, I could say the same about you. All the people in Detroit and he latches on the two of us.”

“We both know he’s only here for Tina and Sumo,” Gavin says, briefly recalling the last time Connor wore a black shirt when meeting with Hank. He’d been covered in fur when he got back. “Call me if he shows up.”

“Thanks, Gavin.”

“Don’t mention it,” Gavin says. He hangs up and taps the phone against his hand, pursing his lips. It’s unusual for Connor to drop contact like that, but doesn’t necessarily mean anything. He sends a quick text asking if he’s okay.

It only takes five minutes of dicking about around the house for him to lose his patience and start to genuinely worry. He texts Connor’s direct line then, and half a minute later decides that Hank’s worry may be well placed. Connor always replies almost immediately to direct messages.

Maybe Connor’s just in a dead zone and there’s no need for concern, but somehow he doubts that.

First thing first: See if he can locate Connor the easy way.

“Hey, Pam,” he says, leaning forward and watching the fish as they swim. Half of them are resting, but the arapaima wakes when he speaks, swimming up to float in front of him. “Hey darling, I’ve got a favor to ask of you. Think you can help me find Connor?”

The LED blips yellow and his phone dings with a text message: _Where did Connor go?_

“That’s the question. Androids can be tracked, right? Can you track where he went?”

Another message: _Connor’s tracker is always offline._

“That’s inconvenient,” he says, leaning back with a sigh. “Guess it’d be too easy if I could just do that. Thanks anyway.”

One more text: _Connor’s phone is online. Locating coordinates…_

Gavin lets out a low whistle. “Right. Cell phone.” He checks the coordinates on a map app.

He was right. There’s a gas station there, nestled among a number of establishments. The specific coordinates place Connor’s phone in the alley behind a bar.

“Shit.” He stands, redialing Hank. “Thanks Pam, you’re the best.” Pam swims a couple of excited laps around the tank before settling back down to rest.

Hank picks up on the second ring. “What’s up?”

“I tracked his phone,” Gavin says. He grabs his wallet and keys off the counter and heads for the door, slipping his shoes on. “It’s behind a bar. This isn’t like him. I mean, he could be rescuing a kitten or something, but something feels off. I’m gonna make sure he’s alright,” he says before hanging up.

There’s all sorts of reasons Connor should be okay--and he’s more than capable of taking care of himself--but after the broadcast a couple weeks ago, he worries. After their lunch with Tina, Connor had sat down with him to talk more about himself, from the things that are different about him to the fact that CyberLife would want him back. He’d reviewed the footage of the hostage scenario and managed to identify the negotiator android as an RK800 despite the blurry video. If he bumped into someone who recognized him near the gas station, he could be in serious trouble.

As Gavin tries to start his car, it seems the universe is not with him today. The engine sputters when he presses the button to turn it on, flickering off after only a moment. “Fuck!” He slaps the dashboard. A second and third attempt to start the car end in the same result and he sits there staring through the front window for a minute, fuming and anxious.

He calls Hank back.

“Gavin, are--”

“My car won’t start,” he interrupts. “I could call a cab, but I can’t drive a cab around if I need to. You in?”

“As long as you don’t call me again to change your mind. Text me your address.”

“Thought you had that on file?”

“Yeah, which means not on hand.” Hank hangs up this time and Gavin shoots off the message quickly.

Hank’s at his place twenty minutes later, which is long enough for him to have a text conversation with Tina and ask Pam to triple-check the GPS on Connor’s phone.

“Maybe he dropped it,” Gavin says, hopping into the passenger seat. “Maybe he got mugged and had to walk somewhere. Maybe he said ‘fuck it’ and decided to go for a drink instead of talking with you.”

“I didn’t think he drank,” Hank says, keeping his eyes firmly on the road.

“I dunno. People change.” Gavin’s leg starts bouncing. “Am I worrying too much?”

“Last time we spoke, he was worried for his life. I’m worried about him, Gavin.”

“He was?”

“Yeah. He told me about the whole android thing. If you ask me, he probably should’ve left Detroit a long time ago, but I guess it’s too late for that. He’s got roots here now.”

“Damn. Okay. He didn’t mention that.” Gavin checks his phone. No new messages. “It’s… not just his phone. I texted him directly. Like, messaged his brain. He always gets back right away, but I’ve got nothing.

“He never leaves you on read?”

“He gets pissed off if I overuse that number because it’s a direct line. He wouldn’t ignore a message asking if he’s okay.” Gavin watches the lit signs they pass by in the city. Traffic is moderate at this hour, not that bad but not scarce. “I think that’s the place, near the end of the road. Next to the Italian.”

Hank manages to parallel park and the two of them exit the car, Hank coming around the front to join Gavin as he strides past the restaurant and ducks into the alley between it and the bar.

“Connor?” Gavin calls out. There’s nothing but a dumpster and debris over here, a few weeds poking out through cracks in the cement. It stinks after the hot summer day.

Hank’s eyes dart about, searching for details. “We’ll ask the bartender if they’ve seen anything. Hopefully they’ll have something for us.” He opens his mouth to say more, but as the two of them turn the corner, there’s a figure sitting limply in the alleyway.

Gavin runs forward and kneels down, peering at the figure, and his heart sinks. “It’s Connor,” he says, and Hank shines the flashlight from his phone on him.

Connor’s eyes are open, staring blankly at the cement. Blue blood trickles from his nose down to his chin, dripping onto his shirt, and the skin on his left cheek is glitching, the synthskin unable to keep his chassis covered. The hair on the back of his head is damp and tinged blue, and so is the brick wall behind him.

“What can we do?” Hank asks, keeping his voice level, and Gavin’s thankful that at least one of them can make sense of their own thoughts.

“I don’t know. I don’t…” With a shaky hand, he brushes the hair out of Connor’s eyes. “Let’s bring him home. It’s not safe out here. There’ll be something we can do, right?”

He looks like he’s gone. Gavin doesn’t know how death works for androids, but this can’t be it. It just can’t.

“Take a deep breath,” Hank says, gripping Gavin’s shoulder. He repeats it again until Gavin complies, his whole body feeling wrung out like he’s about to cry. “We’ll take him home and figure this out. Connor’s strong. He’s gonna be alright.”

It’s awkward but not too difficult to get Connor into the car without drawing much attention, and then again to bring him back to the apartment, setting him upright in a kitchen chair. Gavin drapes a towel over half the aquarium to keep the fish from seeing (and it’s a little too late since all the androids are blinking red and yellow by now) and whispers to them that everything’s going to be fine. He grabs a first aid kit, a toolkit, and a pouch of thirium, dropping them all on the table while Hank’s still looking over Connor like he would check a human for injuries.

The blue is so much starker in the bright indoor light, looking almost like paint. Connor’s stillness makes it hard for Gavin to breathe.

“Anything?” Gavin asks.

“The back of his head feels rough. I can’t tell with the skin covering it, but it might be cracked. I don’t know how much that affects the internals.” Hank gently runs a hand across the top and back of Connor’s head again. “Let’s start with the easy one. Give him some thirium, see how that goes. Can he drink it like this?”

“He won’t choke if he doesn’t.” Gavin takes one of the pouches and twists the lid off. “Can you, you know...”

Hank tilts Connor’s head and holds his jaw open.

Gavin’s heart pounds as he pours the liquid carefully, keeping his hands steady enough to avoid spilling any. It’s strange, seeing Connor as visibly an android like this, and he has to fight the urge to check if he’s breathing. He doesn’t think it’s strictly necessary, but then again, he doesn’t know much about androids at all. He feels ashamed that he knows so little and starts to regret not asking all the questions he wants to ask now. What if he’s missing something critical? What if Connor’s mind starts to degrade? Can androids have concussions?

There’s movement on Connor’s face. Gavin glances up as the thirium finishes draining from the pouch and sees Connor’s eyes snap to his.

He tosses the pouch aside. “Connor?”

Connor blinks slowly a few times, then frantically, and reaches out to touch Gavin’s leg with his fingertips. “Gavin.” His voice is tinny and strained, missing some depth to it, but it’s clear enough.

“Hey.” He takes Connor’s hand in both of his. Relief washes over him. Connor’s going to be okay, one way or another. Even if he’s not breathing yet. “You’re alright, man. You’re safe. What do you need from us? More thirium?” He waves a hand at the table. “Tools? Screwdriver?”

“No, I don’t think so.” The blinking stops abruptly and Connor’s eyes shift over to Hank, taking in his presence and the blue on his hands. He’s never seen Connor look so tired before. “Some of my…” He hesitates only a moment. “My data is corrupted and I’ll need to repair it. What happened?”

“You were on your way to my place,” Hank says. “You stopped near a gas station somewhere and we found you behind a nearby bar. Do you remember anything?”

“I’ll need a minute before I can.” A shrill squeak sounds along one of the words and Gavin can’t help but flinch. “You may want to look away.”

Before Gavin can protest, Connor’s skin flows down his face, uncovering the white chassis across his whole head. Even his hair disappears, leaving only a smooth white-and-grey dome behind. His left cheek is scuffed and blue stains his nose and lips, and there’s a visible dent at the back of his head.

It’s unnerving. It’s also simply Connor.

Connor runs his hands over the surface methodically, tracing every inch and catching Hank’s concerned gaze when he feels the back of his head, the older man leaning forward minutely. “It’s superficial,” he says reassuringly. “The initial impact affected my processors but the external injury is not of immediate concern.”

“So that sounds okay,” Gavin says.

Connor tilts his head upwards and feels along the jaw, pressing inwards as if trying to bend the plastic, and then his jaw unslots from his head, detaching completely.

Hank gags and Gavin’s eyes widen. “What the fuck?” Gavin asks.

“I said you should look away,” Connor says. The scratchy voice is still his, but now his mouth isn’t moving along with it. His tongue drapes unnervingly against his neck, no longer supported. Gavin can’t help but stare as he calmly reaches into his throat.

A brief adjustment is made and Connor speaks again. “Testing. One two three four five. Connor Clark. Lieutenant Anderson,” he says, voice clear and smooth once more, exactly as it should be, followed by what sounds like Gavin’s voice: “Whoever programmed your personality was a total dick.”

“Good impression,” Hank says, eyes averted. “I should’ve guessed you could do that.”

The jaw snaps back on and everyone eases up. “State of the art technology,” Connor says after gnashing his jaw a few times.

“Seriously, do you need anything else?”

Connor’s skin returns save for the spot on his cheek, and his hair is perfectly styled as always. “My voice modulator is repaired. Everything else is adequate, but I’ll need to see a mechanic to fix the dents and look into my head. I have a couple that I trust, but I would feel safer if one of you came along.”

“You got it,” Gavin says. “Now?”

“In the morning. And… the rest in the morning, too. I’ll be able to make sense of my repaired memories then.” Connor grimaces, reaching a hand to the back of his head. “I think this hurts.”

“Is there anything we can do for that?”

Connor slowly shakes his head. “I don’t think anyone’s researched pain in androids. Not ones like me, at any rate.”

“Would psychological comforts help?” Hank suggest. “Like cocoa and a movie.”

Connor ponders for a moment, then nods. “Okay. Yeah. We could give something like that a go. It could at least serve as a distraction.”

Gavin stands. “I’ll see if we have any--”

“No,” Connor says. “Let’s try Tina first.”

“Tina?” Gavin furrows his eyebrows.

“Yes, TIna. Wine and shitty cop dramas. ‘Wine and whining,’ as she calls it.”

“Thought you would’ve gone for the cocoa and feel-good movies.”

He scrunches up his face. “Nah. I’m in the mood to be petty, not comforted.”

Hank laughs. “Perfect company for that, right here.”

“That means you too,” Gavin points out. “Alright, I’ll give Tina a call, see if she’s got the time to spare. Sure you don’t need anything else?”

“I thought you would’ve kissed me by now.”

“Connor, I love you, but hell if the jaw thing ain’t a turn off.”

“My face is firmly in one piece.”

“You sure it’s not gonna, like, fall off again?”

“Jesus Christ,” Hank mumbles, abandoning the table in favor of the living room couch.

“Gavin.” Connor fixes him with a look. “Come here.”

Gavin sighs and leans forward, kissing him softly. The kiss is gentle, Connor’s lips warm and familiar beneath his own and tasting faintly of metal. It has a soothing effect on both of them and they part with tender smiles, watching each other like they’re all they need in the world.

“Love you too, babe,” Connor says, kissing him once more. “I’m glad you came looking for me.”

“You’d do the same for me.”

“Hey, uh, guys,” Hank says, calling to them from the couch. His phone is in his hand and he holds it up. “Your fish is texting me? Is that normal?”

The two of them chuckle, leaning against the table together. “I don’t have a fucking clue,” Gavin says. He’s lost track of what counts as normal.

It doesn’t matter, anyway. He’s got all he needs right here.

**Author's Note:**

> Can you believe chapter 4 was not initially going to happen? I'm glad I added it, it was a fun chapter to work on.
> 
> Thanks so much for reading! I would really appreciate a kudos or comment if you enjoyed this story.
> 
> Thanks again to [NHMoonshadow](https://sharysisnhmoonshadow.tumblr.com/post/188204454108/) for the art and [itz_mckennaj](https://archiveofourown.org/users/itz_mckennaj) for beta reading.
> 
> Find me on twitter @gildedfrost (18+)! I also spend time in the [New ERA DBH](https://discord.gg/2EKAAz3) Discord server.


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